


Dreams turn to dust in the light of day

by frozenpapers



Series: two halves of a soul [3]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Gen, Miscarriage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-24
Updated: 2018-01-24
Packaged: 2019-03-08 23:22:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 969
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13468770
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/frozenpapers/pseuds/frozenpapers
Summary: Not even the gods would allow this to become some cruel jape.





	Dreams turn to dust in the light of day

**Author's Note:**

> The inevitable written in how I think it would go, given the way they've written Jaime's departure in the show's version. For if the horse and the snowflake would represent the way he'd dealt with Cersei's letter, the miscarriage would have prompted her message written out of despair.

                Fingers, long, and dreadful wrapped its searing warmth around a pale, cold thigh, breaking the biting laps of gelidity, introducing a sensation unwarranted as pain knifed through the pit of a naked stomach, rearing the sleeper awake and aware of the darkness that surrounded her. Green irises, blinked wide and heavy, a thick silken duvet being thrown aside, hands shaking, a mother frantic as she searched through the void with the faintest of incandescence to guide her where it felt _slick_.

                _No._

                It must have been a dream – another nightmare of the fallacy that left the frog’s warty lips, a manifestation of her fears when he had left her in the middle of an ordeal, when he had _betrayed_ her to snuff what’s left of his honour, to gleam as gold as his left hand. Another of those bouts of terror when alone with only these lies as bearer of thoughts to be mulled over in the quietude that had befallen the halls of the Red Keep – it had to be it; for when she first slipped in the abyss of slumber, she had been embraced by the haunting imagery of the Imp. He had been carrying a crossbow, and she had been sitting in the privy where Lord Tywin had been murdered, stomach bare for him to behold, for him to use as target.

                “Wherever whores go,” she’d heard herself say before he’d let loose of the string, and had eased her in a painful end, with another golden shroud turned to ashes, and the only blood and flesh had been her entrails that had somehow escaped the deepened cut where arrow met meat.

                He gave her a grin, mismatched eyes gleaming in the faintest of the yellow incandescence from the dying flame in the sconce before she awoke screaming with blood between her thighs.

                It must be a dream, the queen thought as despair had enveloped her and robbed her of the warmth that had used to nestle underneath her skin. A gelid breeze blew in between the slits of pale curtains, the moon peeking through thick clouds as snowflakes had allowed itself to take residence within what once was a warm solar. Cersei shivered, but not because of her nakedness, but of the terror that had ripped through her, and had blurred her vision, enough for her to hope to be blind.

                Lips trembling, breath caught, she blinked the tears away, let them drop upon sheets stained of deepened sanguine that reminded her of the wine she used to find satisfaction in. Palms were drawn against the dampened silk, feeling the warmth, the death that slipped between fingers, and screamed at her _red_.

                _If I don’t think of it, it will not be true. Dreams turn to dust in the light of day_ , but even she knew – despite in the haze of bewilderment, grief, and terror – that she would be a fool to dismiss this as fabrication of a mind wrought by nightmares. To wait for the sun to rise, to sleep and to act as though it had not been true, would be further submerging herself into the madness that she had been subjected to. Her child was dead inside of her, and nothing will ever change that, not even the gods would allow this to become some cruel jape.

                She should dress herself, rinse her skin of the scent of metal – of an unborn babe’s carcass before anyone would see her in the shell of her vulnerability, but somehow, such notion had not urged her to move from the puddle of her own blood. A blank stare on the canopy, then to pale, white fingers stained with the darkness of death, a silence passing before a scream unlike her own – primal and desperate – had been emitted from lips chapped by the restless winds of winter. Tears had fallen copiously down hollow cheeks, landing upon the mess she had made, mingling, turning it into a river of despair and losses – a state of duress Qyburn had found her when the scream and the sobs had woken the sleeping halls of the Keep.

                She didn’t regard his presence when silence had once again made its claim, proceeded to glance upon the pits of darkness that swallowed her quarters whole, verdant irises unblinking, clouded by grievance, of a light snuffed from its candle. He uttered words, she had been certain, but she wished not to pay attention to it, while she processed what had become the only beacon in the darkness Jaime had left her in. It had felt like hours – hours of staring, of repressing sobs, of bloodied hands grasping at a protruding stomach, an empty vessel that housed death. She grieved until there was nothing left of her, until the numbness had resurfaced and brought her back to the place when the life she had given her children had been stolen from them.

                It was then she had the courage to look at the man who had served her without stammer. Jaime had to know of this. He _needed_ to know.

 

>                 “Qyburn, for the love you bear me, I beg you, send a message for me. A raven if you can. A rider if not. You must send to the Wall, to my brother. Tell him what has happened, and write… write…”
> 
>                 “Yes, Your Grace?”
> 
>                 She licked her lips, shivering. “Come at once. Help me. Save me. I need you now as I have never needed you before. I love you. I love you. I love you. _Come at once_.”
> 
>                 “As you command. _‘I love you’_ thrice?”
> 
>                 “Thrice.” She had to reach him – needed to, to survive the despair she suffered for losing another child. “He will come. I know he will. He must. Jaime is my only hope.”

                _He was the only one left._

**Author's Note:**

> Highlighted passages belong GRRM. The reason why I decided to keep it, is to as stated "incorporate" part of the books into the show's mess. In no way did I intend to plagiarize this work of art.


End file.
